


Every Time

by Sara_Ellison



Series: Near-Death Sexperience [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Incest, M/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could never have been just one time, but it was never supposed to turn into this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Time

**Author's Note:**

> Because apparently my angsty porn needs a sequel. Please note that the opinions expressed herein by the characters are not necessarily my own opinions.

After Henriksen lets them go, Dean finds himself unaccountably tense. It's Sam's turn to drive, and he snaps at his brother irritably. "Would you quit fidgeting? I can't concentrate on the road. Just fucking sit still, okay?"

Dean does his best, but he can't stop himself from drumming his fingers on his leg. When they get to the motel, he's out of the car like a spring uncoiling, slamming Sam against the wall outside their room and crushing their mouths together. Sam gasps, hands scrabbling at Dean's body, but he's not pushing him away, just trying to reposition him so he can grind back against him, one thigh between his brother's. There's a bed not fifteen feet away, but neither of them has the will to pull away from each other long enough to get there, so they rut hard and desperate against each other, Sam pinned between the rough brick at his back and his brother's body against his front, half-illuminated by the dim light from the parking lot, until they both come in their jeans, gasping into each other's mouths.

"We could have died," Dean mutters as he pulls away to unlock the door, as though it needs explanation. Sam follows him inside without a word and lets his big brother have the first shower.

Sam suspects that Dean won't actually die until his year is up, no matter how dire the situation seems--he made a deal, after all. Knowing that doesn't stop the adrenaline rush of terror when one of them is in mortal danger, though, and he gets it, he really does get it. After the Morton House ordeal, he doesn't even complain when Dean rips his second-favorite shirt trying to get it off him. Dean does his damnedest to fuck Sam through the mattress, and Sam comes so hard he sees stars.

Afterwards, Dean tries to apologize for being rough, but Sam silences him with a kiss. He'll be a little sore, but he understands. It's the desperation, the need to be close to someone he almost lost, the adrenaline rush that translates so easily into arousal. It's not that mortal danger turns them on. They're fucked up, sure, but not _that_ fucked up. It's the survival, relief, the reaffirmation that they're still alive.

There's a strange sort of logic to it, with the near-death experiences and the close calls. There's no logic when the hellhounds tear Dean to shreds. There's no sense to the way Sam feels, the way his skin feels too tight and his blood tingles with pressure, threatening to explode. He clutches Dean's body to his chest, mindless of the blood soaking his clothes.

It's a different kind of desperation, impossible need, agony surging through his body. He curls around Dean, wraps his limbs around the still form as though he can squeeze life back into him. His own body is trembling, rocking against Dean--but it's not Dean, he's not in there, he can't hear Sam screaming his name. This wasn't supposed to happen--he knew it was coming, anticipated this for a whole year, not like when Dean died at the Mystery Spot over and over--they were supposed to be ready for it, they were supposed to stop it, they had a whole year to find a way to save Dean and he didn't. He failed. Sam let his brother down. He let his brother die.

The finality strikes him like a blow to the stomach, a physical shock that makes all his muscles spasm, his fingers digging into Dean's flesh hard enough to bruise, if he could still bruise. It's over, it's done, Dean is _dead_. It's finished, there's nothing more Sam can do but his body doesn't want to release Dean's. He's breathing hard, and his throat feels like sandpaper; he realizes he's been screaming. His legs feel like water when he tries to stand.

He's dug hundreds of graves, but this one is so much harder than any salt-and-burn job he's ever done. He feels as though his strength has been sapped, his arms burning with the effort of driving the shovel into earth. When he finally lays Dean's body in the dirt, exhausted, he stops a moment, looking down at him, and wants to crawl in there with him. He ought to say something, he thinks, but the words get caught in his throat, choking him. It's nothing Dean didn't already know, anyway. _I'm sorry_ and _I'll get you back somehow_ and _I love you._

It's only later, when Sam peels out of the dirt-stained, blood-soaked clothes, that he realizes how his body has betrayed him. His boxers are stuck to his skin with more than just Dean's blood. At first it doesn't register; he runs his fingers through the sticky fluid, dried tacky on the insides of his thighs, trying to comprehend. The wave of nausea hits him then, leaving him dry-heaving on the bathroom floor, as realization takes hold--the tension as he cradled Dean's body against him, the sudden rush of release that he mistook for resignation. "God, Dean," he chokes out, "I'm sorry. I never meant--" He shudders, revolted by himself.

He tries to move on. With Ruby, it feels like he can start to forgive himself. She helps him redirect his frustration and self-loathing into more productive outlets, exorcising demons and hunting Lilith. It feels like justice, like redemption, trying to find and destroy the monster who took Dean from him and turned Sam against himself.

Ruby promises they're getting close to Lilith, and Sam believes her because he doesn't have a better option. She's with him the day Dean knocks on the door, Bobby at his side; she pretends not to know him in order to protect herself, so Sam has no forewarning.

His traitorous dick hardens before he even sees his brother, some subsensual trigger, like a smell he doesn't notice that flips a switch inside him. He knows intellectually that it's not Dean, it can't be Dean; it's got to be some monster wearing his brother's face, but Bobby says it's really him, and Bobby's not a fool. Sam practically throws himself into Dean's arms.

It's inevitable. If near-death experiences make them horny, his brother actually coming back from death and wrapping his arms around Sam's body is guaranteed to make him come in his pants, helplessly, his muscles clenched to keep from thrusting against Dean as he trembles. He knows that Dean knows; that telltale, minute shudder of his body is one that Dean has elicited from him a dozen times. Dean knows it as well as Sam knows that bitten-off cry that Dean makes when Sam bites down on the inside of his thigh.

Not to mention that Dean can feel Sam's cock twitching against his belly as he spurts inside his boxers. Dean's arms tighten around him, pulling him even harder against his body. Sam wants to cry, to sob with relief--Dean doesn't think he's a freak, Dean missed Sam as much as Sam missed him, Dean still wants to hold him even when Sam embarrasses himself.

They break apart before it gets too weird, but he can't seem to look away from Dean. All right, it's maybe getting a little weird. He's grateful when Ruby breaks the spell.

"So are you two, like...together?" she asks, as if she doesn't know.

"What?" Sam says, her words slowly filtering in. "No! No." He laughs it off for Bobby's benefit, and Dean's, because Bobby doesn't know about them and Dean doesn't know about Ruby. "He's my brother."

He sends her away; it's her idea, but if she hadn't suggested it, Sam would have asked her to leave. He needs time with his brother; Ruby is something left over from the between-time, when Dean wasn't there to keep him together and Sam started falling apart. Ruby patched him up, like bubblegum and twine, but now Sam has the real thing and Ruby is superfluous.

There's no opportunity to change his shorts with them there, so Sam sits there as they talk with the come drying on his skin, trying not to show how uncomfortable it is, the way it pulls on the hairs on his thighs as he shifts. He's never had a good poker face, especially when it comes to Dean. It makes him look like he's lying when Dean starts questioning him.

It hurts when Dean accuses him of selling his soul to get Dean out of Hell. Does Dean have no idea of what it was like for Sam, the agony of knowing his brother was going to die, not being able to stop it? Sam tried to trade himself; that's the only deal he would have taken. Dean wouldn't have to endure that year of waiting for Sam to die. If the crossroads demon had offered him a year, ten, fifty, he wouldn't have taken it.

By the time they get out to the car, Sam is feeling a lot better. He can barely keep from smiling, even as Dean makes fun of his iPod. " _You're the only one for me_ ," it croons.

"Really?" Dean says drily, and Sam shrugs. He thinks that lyric is kind of apt right now, but Dean tosses the device in the back seat.

"Lemme see it," Dean demands shortly, as he pulls out of the parking lot.

"See what?" Sam asks, his heart suddenly hammering in his throat. He slumps down further in his seat. He knows what Dean means; he played it cool earlier, but now comes the teasing.

"You know what," Dean says, and yeah, Sam does. He undoes his pants, fingers fumbling with the button, and shoves them and his come-stained boxers down over his hips, wincing as the cloth comes unstuck from sensitive skin.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean growls, his eyes darting between Sam's exposed skin and the road. He reaches for Sam, fingers pushing into the crease of Sam's thigh where the come hasn't dried yet. "Fuck. Look at you, jizzing in your pants like that over me. You know how fucking hot that is?"

He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking the semen off them and Sam's cock, half-hard already under Dean's gaze, jerks to attention. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah I do, Dean-- _God_." Dean is licking his palm, now, reaching to wrap his hand around Sam's dick and Sam's hips punch forward into Dean's grip. He gasps, writhing in his seat, then pushes Dean's hand away.

"Sam, what--" Dean starts, but Sam dives in, pushing his face into Dean's lap. Dean groans, spreading his legs wide, and Sam breathes in deep, drinking in the scent of his arousal, nuzzling at Dean's erection through his jeans.

"Need you," Sam moans, by way of explanation. His mouth is watering, aching for the feel of Dean's cock between his lips, the taste of him on his tongue, and he can't stand to wait any longer. He unzips his brother's fly, working Dean's erection out of his underwear. Just the feel of it in his hand makes his blood burn, the hot, hard flesh in his palm, velvety-smooth skin under his fingers. He curls his tongue around the head, licking away the slick gathered at the tip as he strokes the shaft.

"Sammy." Dean's voice is rough; his hand tangles in Sam's hair, tight enough to hurt when Sam tries to take him deeper. " _Sam._ God." Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat, half-soothing, half a protest at the hair-pulling, and Dean releases him, lets him sink down onto his brother's cock, swallowing him to the root. " _Oh!_ "

Sam sucks him like his life depends on it. The bitter-salty slick of precome over his tongue is like ambrosia to him, the scent of Dean flooding his nostrils more precious than oxygen. His hands grip his brother's thighs, keeping him from thrusting up and choking Sam. He moans at the taste of him, the sound vibrating through Dean's flesh.

Dean shouts as he comes, hand tightening again in Sam's hair as he floods Sam's mouth, and Sam swallows every drop, sucking it out of him until Dean whimpers and tugs him off his dick. His hand is wrapped around Sam's cock again before he's stopped trembling, and there's no hope for Sam. He was too wound up already, too turned on by blowing his brother, too far gone. He comes after two strokes, spurting across the glove compartment.

"You're cleaning that up," Dean grumbles, but he's grinning as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

"Jerk," Sam says happily, reaching into the glove compartment for a rag.

"Bitch."

That night, their hotel room has mirrors on the ceiling. Sam is looking forward to putting them to good use, dispelling the tension and fear from their encounter at Pamela's with the freakishly powerful entity called Castiel. Of course, said entity decides to shatter the mirrors over Dean's head, which Sam only hears about later. All in all, Sam thinks he does a very good job at hiding his annoyance with Cas for ruining everything.


End file.
